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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067102">mercy for the faithless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice'>darthpumpkinspice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>do not repent for these deeds [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemy Lovers, M/M, complicated feelings, takes place right before Damar's defection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:00:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"This is the last time," Damar tells him.</em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek), Damar/Weyoun 8, Weyoun/Thot Gor (implied)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>do not repent for these deeds [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mercy for the faithless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>yea so this one is just pure, undiluted angst!! i am sorry!! but I hope ya'll enjoy the (probably) last installment in this series! my ongoing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586445/chapters/70059906">march forward to sin again</a> series IS set in this universe, so there is a happy ending for this (eventually!), but yea for now angst ahoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is the last time,” Damar tells him. His throat is strangely tight and the words come out hoarse, but somehow saying them aloud makes it real, cements into place his burgeoning resistance, and he feels a ruthless certainty burrow deep into the marrows of his bones.</p>
<p>Weyoun does not seem to register the weight of finality in his voice. The Vorta barely looks at him as his lip curls into a dismissive sneer. “It won’t be.”</p>
<p>Damar doesn’t bother to argue. He doesn’t say that in the morning he will be gone, doesn’t tell him that by the end of the day tomorrow he will have reduced the Dominion’s precious cloning laboratories to rubble and embers. These thoughts collect silently in his mind, heavy with a dark weight that feels almost like guilt. Is it guilt for waiting so long to buck against the Dominion’s leash? Or is this guilt more personal – more <em>intimate</em>? Damar does not know. He will never know. He is almost troubled by this, but he has long ago become close friends with doubt and self-recrimination. He looks back on the expanse of his life – the ugly, sum totality of his existence - and finds only an endless sea of mistakes and remorse – <em>this</em> will just be one more drop in that ocean.  </p>
<p>He shares none of this. What he says, instead, is, “How do you want me?”</p>
<p>There is usually a longer back and forth – a mutual resistance that has grown so familiar it almost feels like a game, and Weyoun’s eyes go wide, stunned into temporary speechlessness by Damar’s forwardness. Frankly, if Damar had known that this was all it took to shut the Vorta up, he would’ve dropped to his knees and prostrated himself right when Weyoun 5 opened his mouth to berate him for the first (and certainly not last) time. Damar savors the rare moment of silence while it lasts. Weyoun’s eyelids flutter as he blinks in rapid succession. “You don’t have a preference?” he says finally.</p>
<p>Damar shakes his head. His plan is progressing into its final stages even as they speak, and there is a dreadful, petrifying inevitability in that knowledge that leaves him cold inside. He finds that here, at the end, all he wants is to feel some shred of Weyoun’s heat one last time. He cannot bring himself to care what form that takes – inside his body, around his cock… he just wants to bask in the Vorta’s warmth while he still can.</p>
<p>Weyoun appraises him for a careful moment, and for the first time in too long his eyes are sharp and thoughtful in their examination. A sliver of shrewdness takes shape in his violet gaze, and for a breathless instant Damar feels as if Weyoun is truly<em> seeing</em> him; those starshine eyes, as bright as a dying sun in its violent, final throes, seem to scorch through him, tearing away any artifice, any deception in their path. For a second, Damar is gripped with the feverish terror that Weyoun <em>knows </em>– that he has deduced his plans, has somehow glimpsed the guilt inscribed onto Damar’s soul like a confession. Damar should’ve expected this outcome, he is a foolish, self-sabotaging man but he should’ve known better than <em>this </em>– he has never been successful at hiding secrets from Weyoun for long.  </p>
<p>Damar half-expects Weyoun to rear away from him and summon his guards for an unceremonious execution. Instead, Weyoun’s gaze loses its piercing focus and drops to Damar’s lips, and then the Vorta’s hand is snaking around to the back of his head as he roughly drags him down for a kiss that is mostly tongue and teeth. He bites Damar’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and Damar can’t silence the muffled moan that escapes him – he is not sure if he intends this to communicate objection or encouragement, or some perverse combination of both. Whichever the reason is, he does not pull away as Weyoun nips against his lip again, causing a white-hot shock of pain as his teeth graze over the injured skin. Perhaps urged on by his lack of protest, the Vorta draws blunt fingernails along the sensitive ridges of Damar’s neck, and the pain <em>this </em>creates is luminous and exquisitely sharp. Again, Damar does not attempt to extricate himself from the Vorta – he is content to endure Weyoun’s viciousness, for it is no less than he deserves; let this be his atonement, his punishment, the first pound of flesh as payment for his rebellion. Let the Vorta hurt him if he desires it – Damar’s retribution is already well under way. Tomorrow, when the Rondac III cloning facilities are just a smear of carbon and ash, he hopes Weyoun will still be able to taste Damar’s blood on his tongue as he realizes the truth.</p>
<p>The Vorta pulls him into his bedroom, and begins to strip with that detached, impersonal efficiency he has always favored in these moments. Damar yanks off his own armor before Weyoun can command him to, and now naked he immediately begins to shiver. Weyoun’s quarters have always been a touch chilly by Cardassian standards, but tonight they seem even colder than usual, and he wonders if Weyoun has lowered the temperature intentionally, in some act of petty vindictiveness to punish Damar: perhaps for the woman he entertained a few nights before, or perhaps for his attempt to lie to the Vorta about his dealings with Dukat.</p>
<p>Fortunately, it is not long before Weyoun sprawls himself over Damar and the burning heat of his body chases away the cold.  Damar grabs him by the waist, and when Weyoun gasps approvingly he flips them over so that Weyoun’s back is flush against the bed. A soft desire unfurls within him, motivated by nothing more than base <em>sentiment</em>, but if this is to be their last time together, Damar wants to enjoy it. He explores the Vorta’s body as if he has never touched him before, memorizing the shape and taste of him as his fingers and mouth migrate down the curved ridge of Weyoun’s ear, his arched neck, and the planes of his chest. Weyoun trembles underneath him, and he reaches up to grab at Damar’s hair, gripping tightly as if for stability.</p>
<p>Damar’s ministrations reach Weyoun’s thighs, and the Vorta makes a strangled noise as he brushes lightly against a trail of fresh bruises scattered along the innermost crease of his left leg where it joins to his groin. He knows from past experience that the Vorta’s skin is fragile, and prone to bruising, but these are dark and angry and <em>deliberate </em>in a way that is unfamiliar to him. “What are these?” he asks, because he knows that he did not leave them.</p>
<p>Weyoun flinches almost imperceptibly, and the hand he’s fisted into Damar’s hair clenches and unclenches in a quick contraction of movement. “Solidifying the Breen alliance,” he says stiffly, “Is the Founder’s chief priority.”</p>
<p>Damar does not know how to respond to that, and he suspects Weyoun would not take kindly to any perceived pity. Instead, he slides himself up and presses a soft kiss to the Vorta’s lips, and for a brief, tentative moment Weyoun returns it, his hand releasing from his hair to wrap around Damar’s lower back, the touch lingering and gentle.</p>
<p>The moment breaks, and the delicate tenderness in Weyoun’s eyes brightens into a fanatical intensity. “<em>Damar</em>,” he starts, a dangerous note already oozing into his voice. The hand at Damar’s lower back tenses, indenting the skin and pressing in hard enough that Damar half-seriously wonders whether Weyoun is trying to claw out his spine. “When the Federation is ashes,” the Vorta is saying, his words echoing with an almost religious fervor, “When we have subjugated their people, and their worlds have been razed into nothing, you and I should consummate our… alliance… in the ruins of their precious Starfleet headquarters.”</p>
<p>A zealot’s fire burns in his eyes, and his gaze drifts past Damar, fixed on the future the Founder has prophesized. A knot twists inside of Damar at Weyoun’s pledge, at the knowledge that <em>he </em>is also included in the Vorta’s imagined victory. It is a future he too once dreamed of – Cardassia ascendant over the galaxy, joined together in mutual accord – instead of <em>servitude </em>– with the Dominion, restored to their rightful place above the <em>lesser </em>species that had brought them low. But that is a dream he has ceased to believe in, and it deserves to be left behind in those naïve, bygone days. He knows that the promised future Weyoun describes will never come to pass. Damar remains silent for too long, and Weyoun - still too blinded by his vision of glory to sense any of Damar’s true motives – reads doubt into his reticence.  “Do not worry,” Weyoun assures him. “Your loyalty to the Dominion will be richly rewarded. Cardassia has seen its share of tragedy, but soon the Founder will crown herself king and the entire Alpha Quadrant will bow before the Founders divinity, and <em>when</em> that day comes you and your people will enjoy the fruits of your labors.” His smile is sharp enough to draw blood. “And you, my dear Damar,” he purrs, “<em>You </em>will be able to ask for anything you desire. We would deny you <em>nothing</em>.”</p>
<p>Damar, again, does not respond. The unsaid thing – the admittance of his deception – presses into the soft tissue of his throat and sits there, cutting into his windpipe and choking back his words. He knows that here, now, if Weyoun cared to look into his eyes, he would surely see the truth laid bare. But Weyoun has already grown distracted. He squirms under Damar, and then slips his hand down between Damar’s legs, wrapping a fist around his cock and squeezing hard enough to make Damar wince.</p>
<p>“Fuck me,” he orders.</p>
<p>This is the last scrap of obedience Weyoun is entitled to, and Damar allows himself to be commanded by the Vorta. When he pushes himself into Weyoun’s waiting warmth, and the Vorta’s body swallows his length, clenching around him even as it guides him deeper inside, he does not think anything in the galaxy has ever felt quite so good.  </p>
<p>Weyoun digs his nails into the ridges along Damar’s sternum, presses his palms flat into Damar’s ribs. He’s panting inarticulate instructions into Damar’s ears, demands for him to go <em>faster</em>, <em>harder</em> and more still that Damar cannot make out. The tight heat he’s fucking into has begun to pulse around him in a way that leeches away his ability to concentrate on anything else in the world – all of his thoughts drain into this act, fixated on it with a singular purpose. There is nothing else here but the rhythm of his cock driving into the Vorta, nothing but him and Weyoun and the all-consuming pleasure that feels as if it’s burning him alive. He is being destroyed by the Vorta, one thrust at a time. And Damar will destroy him – every unborn clone, every future potentiality of the Weyoun line, obliterated in a single moment of carnage and death. And he knows, with a primitive understanding that transcends conscious awareness, that Weyoun will kill him for this, that this deed will not go unanswered. But the decision has already been made; he has already bargained his life away for this plot of his, for his dream of a new and better future. He is already destroyed. When he cums, it is little more than a surrender to fate.</p>
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